Chuck vs the Bête Noire
by William Ashbless
Summary: A season 3 AU. What if Sarah couldn't stay in Burbank and had to leave after the wedding? What if the Ring were too late in trying to stop Bryce from uploading Intersect 2.0? Takes place two years after the wedding. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes. This is my second attempt at writing a multi-chapter story. We'll see how successful I am. As usual, I'm not the owner of Chuck. Read and review! Let me know if this is worthwhile! William Ashbless**

April 22, 2011

19:38 Hours

Empty Throne Games

Los Angeles, CA

The lights were still on at the third floor offices of Empty Throne Games. Most of the software team had left already for the Easter weekend, or in some of their cases, simply the weekend. It had been a long development session, but now their latest MMOPRG was ready for beta-testing.

Charles "Chuck" Bartowski, President of Empty Throne Games, sat in his office, keyboard in his lap, Chuck Taylor encased feet propped up on his six foot desk, happily humming to himself as he reviewed the game flow. An empty can of Red Bull, and "This Desert Life" playing on the speakers.

In the two years since Ellie and Awesome's wedding, Chuck had founded a small software shop, and released a series of games that had captured the world wide imagination of gamers everywhere. He had resisted selling out to bigger companies but had been able to leverage agreements that resulted in a very hefty cash flow but maintained his independence.

Smiling, he shut down his system and picked up his phone and selected a contact name. As he waited for his sister to pick up, he was treated to the unmistakable sound of Gwen Stefani.

"_Ain't no holla back girl, I ain't no holla back girl"_

"Ellie! It's Chuck! Sis, you're a doctor, wife and mother, I'm pretty sure you're not a holla back girl!", he teased. "Listen, I just needed to confirm the time for the Easter Egg hunt."

"uh, huh"

"Ok, well, that'll work, I'll see you guys Sunday. Give my love to the girls and I'll see all of you Sunday. Love you!"

He ended the call, got up, stretched his lanky build to his full height. He picked up his leather backpack from the floor, shoved his laptop and some paperwork in and began to make his way out of the office suite towards the elevator, shutting the lights on his way. As he approached the elevator door, he heard the ding of it stopping. Puzzled at who could be coming up, he paused.

The elevator doors opened. His stunned eyes were drawn not to the four obvious agents in black suits, earwigs and stoic faces, but rather the diminutive figure in the middle they were so clearly protecting.

"Hello Chuck." said Beckman.

A few minutes later, a wary Chuck sat in his executive conference room, looking across at Beckman. Two of her detail stood guard by the elevator doors, one was roving through the offices, while the last stood outside the conference room door.

Chuck looked closely at Beckman. "You seem tired, General. Are you ok?" he asked.

"Chuck, let me be honest with you. We have a problem with something and I'm here to ask for you help." Beckman stared tiredly into Chuck's eyes. "We miscalculated the stability of the current Intersect host."

"What's that mean? You miscalculated?"

"Chuck, six months ago, Bryce went insane. He's utilizing the Intersect, not just against terrorists but those that he perceives are the root cause of the world's problems. He thinks he's Justice Incarnate and he's out to remake the world in his image.". She paused for a brief moment to allow Chuck to absorb all that she had said. "Chuck, we can't stop him as long as he is the only person using the Intersect. Chuck, your country needs you again. Will you upload the Intersect? Will you help us stop him?"

"General. I just." He paused. "I just can't do that. I'm not a hero. I'm just a guy that writes software."

"He's killed every member of the Intersect project with the exception of two people."

Chuck's breath stopped. He hadn't communicated with her in two years. Not since the night of Ellie's wedding when she told him she was leaving for DC to become head of the Intersect project. He hadn't stopped thinking about her but he respected the decision she had made when she chosen her career. He prayed that Beckman wouldn't tell him that Sarah was dead. Not that.

"Who's left" he rasped.

"Your father and Sarah. They're all that's left. We've got Sarah in protective custody but it's only a matter of time before he finds her. Your father refused our offer of protection but he still communicates with us to let us know that he's alive."

His eyes tightened as he stared directly into Beckman's face. "If I do this, there has to be conditions. I want John Casey. I want her safe. I also want approval to do this my way. If I can avoid killing Bryce, I will. And when this is over, I go back to my life."

"Agreed. Chuck, you need to know something. Larkin sent me a communication. He's going to publicly assassinate a world leader on Easter Sunday. He's going to do it in such a way as to provoke a world war. We have to stop him before then."

"Well, General, I guess it's time for Agent Charles Carmichael to be reactivated, isn't it?"

A disembodied voice spoke from Chuck's iPhone. "Son, we need to talk. General, can you give us some privacy?"

Startled, both Chuck and Beckman stared at the static filled image displayed on the iPhone. "Dad?"

"Yes, Charles, it's me. Please, we need to talk. In private."

Chuck looked at Beckman and with a head motion, indicated that she should leave. As she shut the door, Orion spoke again.

"Charles, listen to me. You don't have to do this. I can protect myself and Sarah is in protective custody. This isn't your fight son. You've done your part!"

"Dad. I love her. I always have and always will. I'm not doing this to prove anything."

"I can't convince you otherwise, can I?"

"No, Dad, you can't."

Even through the voice distortion software, the unmistakable sound of a sigh came through. "Well, Charles. Then let me help you. I can't physically be there but I can help you with the Intersect. Make it easier for you to use."

"Dad, what happened with Bryce? Do you know?"

"As best as I can tell, his ability to assimilate the data flow is not as good as yours. In order to compensate for that, he altered aspects of the interface. He choose to override the safety protocols. By doing so, he created an addiction to actually using the Intersect continually. His mind is now so warped by using the Intersect like that, that he's lost all traces of humanity. He always was a sociopath, the Intersect just amplified those tendencies to where he's lost all traces of morality. And now he's lost touch with reality."


	2. DOS vs Leopard

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the subscriptions! Again, this is my season 3 AU where Bryce was able to upload the Intersect 2.0, Sarah took the assignment to Washington, DC and Chuck stayed behind. 14 chapters are planned, six are written at this point.  
**

**As always, I don't own Chuck  
**

0400 April 23, 2011

Somewhere over Virginia

USAF VC-20

Chuck was exhausted. A four and half hour flight across the country plus a three hour time change were the root causes of his exhaustion. He had spent the flight reviewing the information his dad had shared with him and mentally preparing himself to download the Intersect again in a few hours.

He had also spent time thinking of her. In the two years since Sarah had left, not a day had gone by when he hadn't thought of her. With the Intersect out of his head, he had lost all his ability to find her. Oh, he had done the usual searches using web tools, but at the end of the day he just couldn't find her.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the Photos folder, skipped down through several photos, until finally he found it. The first real photo they shared, Sarah in her Princess Leia costume and him in a tie from that missed job interview for the Assistant Manager position. She looked as beautiful as ever. He tried to imagine what color hair she had now. Was it still blonde? Or maybe she was a redhead now? Never a brunette, not Sarah.

He sighed and returned to the home screen as he reviewed the last conversation he had with his dad.

"Charles. I've been doing some research on Bryce ever since he snapped. It's disturbing in so many ways because it could have been you instead of him. Regardless, we're here now and I've developed a preliminary prototype interface to protect your mind once you do download. Bryce had the right idea by creating an interface, unfortunately he was limited by his mental capacity."

Orion paused for a moment, clearly wrestling with how to explain what happened to Bryce.

"Bryce decided that for the sake of simplicity he would adapt something that he was comfortable with mentally, something that he knew inside and out. Unfortunately, what he chose to utilize created a disconnect with reality when the safety protocols where turned off. Charles, he's using Zork, that game you two used to play at Stanford as his interface! He now thinks he's the Adventurer, trying to rid the Great Underground Empire of evil!"

Chuck recalled feeling stunned as he listened to his dad relate technical specifications, limitations of a mental text based interface. Simply put, Bryce was having to navigate a huge index of words mentally and then executing commands from Zork to trigger flashes.

"Son, that methodology works, but it's a direct cause for the mental issues Bryce is having. I can't subject you to the same thing. I've sent a file to your iPhone. Before you land, open the file marked "Leopard". Be sure that no one sees the images, or the result will be the same that you faced in the suburbs."

"The file will create what amounts to a mental desktop. To activate the desktop, simply think of the word "Leopard". A heads-display will appear in your vision. Don't worry, only you can see it and you should be able to function normally while it's in your vision. On the desktop will be a series of icons. To turn it off, just think "Leopard" again. I tried to choose image icons that I felt would be easy for you to remember and be intuitive as to the function. One of them, though, I must caution you about. You must promise to only use it as a last resort. The Master Chief icon from that game you and Morgan play will turn the Intersect into a battle computer, capable of optimal tactical decisions. This will last for ten minutes where the Intersect will be in control of your body. You can turn it off early, but it's hardwired to only last ten minutes at the most."

"Son, I know this will be hard on you, but just remember, you're aces. I love you."

Chuck released his seatbelt, and walked back to the bathroom at the rear of the VC-20, passing by Beckman as she slept lightly. A few of her aides were banging away at laptops, making secure calls via the communications suite on the plane.

As he closed the door behind and latched it, he looked one last time at his face in the mirror. He saw a thirty something face with closely cropped hair. He noticed his hands trembling. Lifting them, he stared at his image. "Don't freak out Chuck."

Exhaling slowly, he lifted the phone and flipped to the Leopard file. He paused and said quietly, "For Sarah" and pushed on the file.

A rush of images captured his attention. He stood, locked into position by the barrage of images. Quickly they ended and he slumped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He grabbed the edge of the sink as he caught his breath. Straightening, he mentally said "Leopard". An orange heads up display appeared in front of his eyes, with several dozen photo icons. He saw photos of flowers, animals, maps, symbols for language and a slew of others. Mentally, he tried to select a icon and braced himself.

"What the...?" a puzzled Chuck said. "Why is nothing happening...oh, this is just an interface, the Intersect needs to be uploaded first. You big dummy. Leopard." The display disappeared.

"Attention passengers, please return to your seats, and secure your seatbelt, we'll be landing shortly." a quiet no-nonsense voice spoke from the overhead speakers.

Chuck left the bathroom and returned to his seat and watched the lights from below as they banked into Baltimore, Maryland. Time to find Bryce.


	3. The Return of Colonel Casey

**A/N: Again, thanks for all the reviews and subscriptions! I'm pleased with how this story is going, but please review and let me know what you think. As always, I don't own Chuck.**

0420 April 23, 2011

Secure DOD Hanger

Baltimore Washington International Airport

Chuck was staring out the window while the jet taxied towards the hanger. Clearly waiting on them were five standard government issue black suburbans with visibly armed agents. Despite being hundreds of feet away and in dim light, there was no mistaking who the rather large man in black was. Even from inside the plane, Chuck could hear the grunt. It had been awhile since he had seen him.

When people began to exit the plane, Chuck felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked to see one of Beckman's security detail standing behind him.

"Sir, the General would like you to exit the plane and proceed immediately to the third vehicle, the one that Colonel Casey is standing in front. Please don't hesitate, move quickly so we can minimize your exposure. Clear?"

Chuck nodded and waited until all the passengers had disembarked. He quickly made his way down the stairs and moved towards the waiting vehicle. Entering, he slid over and made room as Casey sat beside him, while shutting the door.

"So, what part of moron don't you understand?" said Casey as he looked over at Chuck. "Heard you were doing real well out there and now, well, you're back in it, aren't you?"

Chuck didn't speak for a minute. He just sat absorbing things, moods, feelings. Yeah, that Casey angry center was still there, but not directed at him, fortunately.

"It's Bryce Casey. He's...insane. Let's just wait for Beckman to brief us. Please?"

Casey grunted and tapped the driver's shoulder and motioned forward. Putting the large vehicle into gear, the driver followed the rest of the convoy out from the airport onto Baltimore Washington Parkway. The ride was very short and in minutes, the pair were passed through to a secure conference room where Beckman waited.

"Chuck, Agent Charles Carmichael has been reactivated. Here's your identification and a history of the last two years. Please familiarize yourself with the cover. Colonel Casey, I see that you and Agent Carmichael have renewed your acquaintance. Good. To put it bluntly, we have a situation that only the two of you can resolve. To that end, Carmichael will upload the Intersect and provide intelligence and analysis for this assignment while you will command the strike team. I've already briefed Carmichael, however, in order to bring you up to speed, let me share this with you."

Beckman dispassionately briefed the two, making it clear that the only chance to stop Larkin lay in the mind of one Chuck Bartowski, also known as Agent Charles Carmichael.

"Agent Carmichael, we'll be ready to upload the Intersect in a few hours. I've assigned a team of ten analysts to work with you to help pursue any leads. Keep in mind that they are not cleared to know that you are the Intersect. Your cover will simply be that you and the target were very close in the past."

She directed her attention over to Casey.

"Colonel, we've got a team of twenty five agents assigned to your strike team. Transportation is available on an immediate basis. I've assigned both air and ground vehicles to you for your complete disposal. On the air side, I've secured a C-17 at McGuire Air Force Base in Philadelphia, to transport your teams anywhere in the world. There are two V-22 Ospreys that can provide short range transportation, including taking you to McGuire, here at Fort Meade. The armory has been advised to handle any ordnance requests from you without any need for paperwork. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am. I'd like to speak with the Colonel though."

"Feel free to use this room. I'll be back momentarily."

After Beckman left, Casey stood up and made his way to the coffee service in the corner. Pouring a cup, he lifted the pot in the direction of Chuck, who nodded. Carrying two mugs over, Casey sat across from his old team mate and waited.

Chuck lifted his mug to his mouth using both hands and paused. "Casey, this one is going to be bad. We have to stop him. I'm going to have to get into his head. And then figure out where he's going. I'll be honest. That scares me the crap out of me. I know what the Intersect is capable of in terms of information, but this 2.0 version, with its physical capabilities added and a complete lack of restraint? That's scary. What if I start going insane? What if, while I'm trying to get into his head, I end up believing the same things he does?"

"Don't worry numb nuts. If you start believing you're God, I'll shoot you myself."

When Beckman rejoined them, she brought with her the lead analysts, Hollands and Paseur. Quick introductions began, but as she made to introduce Casey, a uniformed man rushed in and began speaking in a hushed tone to the General.

Beckman's face froze. She asked a quick question, in a low voice. The reply seemed to ease her tension. She motioned for the soldier to leave and then spoke. "Team, I've just received some classified news that I need to share with Agents Carmichael and Casey privately. Please return back to your stations and continue the work you were on. Further assignments will be received shortly. Thank you."

As the analysts filed out, a feeling of dread began in Chuck's stomach as he waited for Beckman to speak. Even before she opened her mouth, he knew exactly what she was going to say.

"Chuck, the location where Sarah was at. It's been breached. Six agents lost their lives protecting her. Chuck, she's...I'm sorry to tell you this. An explosion caused debris from a wall to fall on her. They've transported her to the secure government facility located in Harbor Hospital. Look, it's going to be a few hours yet before they've booted the Intersect up and get it ready for you. I've got a Blackhawk standing by, just be back here by 0830."

Casey reached over and put his hand on Chuck's shoulder. "She'll be fine, Chuck. Come on, let's go see Walker."

The two men made their way out to the helipad, where a team of four agents waited on them to board. They were barely strapped in when the Blackhawk got lift and then roared off to the northeast, seventeen miles away where a certain blonde agent held Chuck's heart.


	4. Introspection and IVs

**A/N: On the road this week, so I'm posting this early. Let me know what you think. Again, I don't own Chuck **

6:10 AM

23 April 2011

Blackhawk Call Sign Checkmate 3

En Route to Baltimore, MD

Casey motioned to Chuck over the noise of the rotors. He pointed to his headset and held up four fingers. Chuck clicked over to channel four.

"Chuck, I got a preliminary report on Walker's status. She had a wall fall on her after an RPG hit the building she was being housed in. She's in critical but stable condition. Multiple fractures, neck injury, and possible paralysis. They don't think that her paralysis is permanent but they've got her sedated for now. They're trying not to aggravate the fractures. They'll get a better idea when she wakes, but for now the prognosis is hopeful."

Casey paused, clearly weighing his options, trying to get inside the mental turmoil going through Chuck's head.

"Look at me Chuck. I know how you feel about her. She's also the best damn partner I ever had. You, me, us, we need to keep it together and focus on the mission. If you can't stop Larkin, nobody can and he'll try again. Remember that. You're the best shot we got for stopping him. You're never going to be James effing Bond, you're just simply a better man than Larkin ever was and we all know it. I need you to man up and handle this."

06:45 AM

23 April 2011

Secure Government Section

Harbor Hospital ICU

Chuck sat by the bedside, just watching, thinking about lost opportunities, wondering if he could fix this. He's good at fixing things, he knows. The reality, though, is that if she really wanted to keep him in her life, he would have heard from her. Instead, this is their reunion, two years later, with her unconscious, battered and hurting and him, waiting, like he always has.

There's lines, and sensors and gauze all over her body. A soft neck brace is preventing sudden movements. The blonde hair surrounds her face. She's lost weight, he can tell. Her cheekbones are more visible and there's bruising all over. Even through her sedation, he can sense a tightness around her body, as if, even though she's unconscious, she's getting ready to run.

He struggles to find the words. He had rehearsed and planned what to say to her for two years. And now, seeing her like this, he realizes that that wouldn't be honest. He can't pretend to be suave or cool. He can only be who he is.

"I love you", he said in a low voice. "I don't even know your real name, but I love you for the person that I know you are. And if you don't love me, that's fine, I'm still your friend. You changed my life for the better, you gave me hope, you taught me courage, and you made me a better man, just simply by your presence in my life. I just wanted you to know that. I'm sorry I drove you away. I was angry. But I've had a long time to think about that conversation. I'm sorry I made you choose. It shouldn't have been a "me or your job" goodbye. If I could take it all back to where we left it on better terms, I would. I miss you Sarah Walker. Don't leave me."

Tentatively, with obvious hesitation, Chuck reached for Sarah's hand, gently holding it, trying not to disturb the IV line. He sat there for a few minutes, quietly.

"Bryce is out there Sarah. He's insane. He's hurting people, killing people. He wants to kill you and my dad. I can't let that happen. He's already tried to kill you, that's why you're here in the hospital." He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Sarah, they asked me to upload the Intersect again. I didn't want to, but when they said Bryce is trying to kill you, I know I have to. This isn't about me. This is about the people I care about, the people I love. I just can't sit by and let that happen. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just a guy that has to do this."

The distinctive sound of an email received came from Chuck's iPhone. Sighing, he pulled out the phone to silence it, but not before seeing the sender's name. Sarah Walker! Stunned, he opened the email to read it.

_Chuck, don't freak out. If you're receiving this, something has happened that prevented me from turning off the 48 hour timer. I need you to find the fan fiction site for a TV show called Scarecrow and Mrs. King. The user name is how you introduced Ellie's husband to me at ; the password is my favorite Christmas present. Read the documents there. Sarah Walker_

Scarecrow and Mrs. King? That old 80's show? Fan fiction? Sarah was a fan girl? What the?, thought Chuck. No, she needs me to see something.

Gently, he removed his hand from hers and searched the web for fan fiction sites for Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Quickly landing on the largest and oldest site on the web, he scrolled to the login page, and carefully typed Captain Awesome followed by Charm Bracelet for the password.

A lengthy list of unread private messages appeared. Picking one at random, he realizing that he needed a bigger monitor to review, so he logged off and went back to holding Sarah's hand.

Too quickly, it seemed, Casey was there to take him back to the helicopter to return to NSA headquarters. Time to get uploaded.

Random Sarah Walker Journal Entry

_December 8, 2010_

_I'm so tired sweetie. He's like a ghost. No, he's a demon. Today, I had to look at images that will be burned into my mind forever. I thought about calling you, but I still can't. I asked your former boss to put some people around you, just in case. She said said she's already doing it. She's just as worried as me. We're worried he might target you. I used to think that you couldn't possibly be a target but I can't be certain anymore. I love you._


	5. The Journal of Sarah Walker

**A/N: This is the not the complete journal of Sarah Walker, simply excerpts over a period of time. 10 chapters written, working on the ending. Hope you enjoy! Oh, that little review button at the bottom might make me post faster :) Seriously, you guys are the best! Hopefully, you're enjoying reading as much as I am writing! Thanks! Last point: I don't own Chuck. **

_**Excerpts from the Journal of Sarah Walker**_

**April 30, 2009**

**548 days until I'm free**

My Dearest Chuck, I decided to do this online, that way when we are reunited you can see that I never gave up on us, on you. Chuck, I love you. I fell for you after you fixed my phone and before you started defusing bombs. I need you to believe that.

I know you say that you understand. I have to be honest though, Chuck, I don't think that you do. I've been running scams since I was eight years old, never living in the same place longer than a few months. You think you know what makes me tick and maybe you do. But you don't understand what the Agency has done for me as a person. They took someone that had no future and gave me a purpose that was greater than me.

You expected me to turn my back on all of that for you. And you're right, I would have. You couldn't let me finish what I was about to say though, how I wanted you to wait for me while I finish this last assignment. Instead, you put your hurt feelings ahead of my needs, and that was painful. That hurt so much, I got mad and left without begging for you to hear me out.

I'm sorry for the way we left it. I'm not saying you were right to get mad. I'm not sorry for getting mad myself, but if we truly love each other, we should have been able to see past the anger and the hurt. That's what love is, acceptance and understanding. Love isn't lust and passion Chuck. It's kisses, it's hugs, it's time spent together, it's complicated and it's simple. It's not a sonnet from Shakespeare or a teenager with raging hormones. It's seeing the inner person and loving them in spite of their flaws. Trust me, I know the difference.

I'm afraid of you Chuck. I'm afraid that you love the seduction trained Sarah Walker and not the real person she is inside. You don't even know my real name, so how can you love the real me? But somehow, someway, you love the real me, not the fabricated woman that walked into the Buy-More two years ago. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's so hard for me to accept you loving me.

But, I'm willing to do that, and I want to do that, it's just going to take some effort and some work. The first step is this journal, showing you that I never gave up on you, on us, and that I had to leave, not because I wanted to , but because I was ordered to.

The next step is to do the job I was assigned to do, and then finish out my contract. I hope you noticed the header on my journal entry. Small steps to get to the desired result. I know what it's like to wait for someone you love to come home. I wish I could make it easier on you, but that's just not possible right now.

I'm still trying to work on the details of what life will be like when my contract ends. I'd like to think that when I come back to you, it's going to be so easy and we'll pick right back up where we left off. I can't ask you to wait on me, but I'm going to be optimistic and think that you will.

So many details to work out. I'll need a new job close to you, a new place to live, so many things. But, I plan to get it all figured out.

I love you. I hope you still love me.

**August 28, 2009**

**429 days until I'm free**

I got a promotion! I'm the equivalent of a GS 15 now! Where ever you are, I'll come there, I'll find a job, even it's waiting on tables, just to have the chance to love you like you deserve to be.

You're probably wondering how I manage to send private messages to myself. Well, to tell the truth, I used a script from my employer to allow me to post private messages to myself, which is something you can't ordinarily do. But it something that people in my line of work need to be able to do.

**December 17, 2009**

**317 days until I'm free**

Hi Chuck. I miss you. I thought of you today. Well, to be honest I think of you every day. But today, I had to do something silly because I missed you so much. I drove to a Buy More and just walked around, remembering you. I couldn't stay long, my mascara started to run.

**December 25, 2009**

**309 days until I'm free**

I miss you

**January 15, 2010**

**288 Days until I'm free**

Some work stuff came up that let me have the next three days off. I wish I could tell you about it, but I can't. I want to see you so bad, it hurts. But I know that if I fly out there and you see me, it will hurt even more when I leave. I'm going to do something else though. I talked to Personnel today. I want to do something very important to me. I can't tell you yet. But it's important to me. I know I said it twice. Can you tell I'm drinking and thinking? I miss you.

I got some take out. The sizzling shrimp isn't as good here as it was there. I also got a couple of bottles of sake to go with my dinner. I picked up a copy of Stardust and plan on watching that tonight and just relax. Did I mention I miss you?

**January 15, 2010**

YOU BETTER BE APPRECIATING WHAT I'M DOING BARTOWSKI THERE BETTRE NOT BE ABY BROWN HAIR SKANKS ON YOU! I KNOW WHERE YOU LILVE!

**Feb 20, 2010**

252 days until I'm free

Ugh. I feel like crap. Why aren't you here taking care of me when I'm sick? I want pancakes. I want you to hold me. I miss you.

**April 20, 2010**

193 Days until I'm free

Happy Anniversary Baby, Got You On My Mind! You know, I'm still mad at you about that. Actually, no it's Morgan I'm mad at. You realize you need to give me a pass when I hurt your friend, right? It's been over three years for me at this point, ok? I need to stop that train of thought right now. I'll get depressed and I wanted to be happy instead. I love you! I miss you!

**May 09, 2010**

**174 Days until I'm free**

Hey, I need to talk to someone. I know its Mother's Day and that's pretty important to you and Ellie, but Chuck, I'm scared. Something's not right. Damn, I said too much already.

**August 1, 2010**

**90 Days until I'm free!**

I saw your interview in Gamer Magazine! I'm so proud of you! I so wanted to be part of that live chat that was hosted for you on the release of your game, but I was scared that you would know it was me. Soon baby, soon.

**September 20, 2010**

**40 days**

Chuck, something's not right. I've set up an emergency dead drop to you. If something should happen to me, I want you to know that the greatest regret I have is not staying in Burbank. I love you.

The emergency drop requires me to call in every 24 hours and key in a six digit code. Failure to type in the code for 48 consecutive hours from the last call-in will trigger an email to you, telling you how to access this account.

I hope that this is simply a precaution, a way to ease my troubled mind. But, I just don't know. On a happier note, Immigration and Customs Enforcement is wanting me to come over and head up their LA Office of State and Local Coordination. It's a good job, Chuck. I could move back and we could start over. I really want this baby. I really want this to work for us. Please, give me a chance to try.

I also wanted to tell you something else. My name is now legally and officially Sarah Walker. I petitioned the court to change my name to match who I am in your eyes. I wasn't truly alive until I met you. Please know this. I love you.

I have to go. The situation I can't talk about, they're having a meeting to discuss. It's not going to be pretty.

I love you.

**November 1, 2010**

I'm so sorry baby. He's snapped and killed a bunch of people and is on the run. We have to stop him. As soon as we stop him, I'm out. I can't tell you anything else. I'm getting a protection detail because that's the only way we can be safe. I really don't want you to read this without me, but if it does happen that way, just know that you're the only man I've ever loved. Nobody else mattered after you. I love you.

**April 19th, 2011**

My dearest sweet Chuck. I'm so scared I won't be able to say that I love you and seeing you smile. I'm trying, I'm really trying to come home to you. But he's the best that's ever been. No morals, no fear, no consequences and no remorse. They say they will let me leave at any time, but my protection detail will not come with me. Oh, Chuck, I want to live so badly! I want you to hold me! I don't want to die without you knowing how I feel! I'm scared. He's coming for me. He's coming for your dad. We're all that's left. I never should have left you behind. At least that way, you could have known how I felt. He still would have come for us. Honey, that last crime scene. I just can't do this anymore. I need you. Love, Sarah


	6. Riding the Barrel

**A/N: I don't own Chuck**

08:27 AM

23 April 2011

Ft. Meade

Intersect Room

The room was white, whiter than new fallen snow. It was also spartan, holding simply two items. A futuristic white reclining chair in the shape of a crescent moon and a blue spinning cube on a pedestal. Chuck slowly walked towards the chair, following two technicians in clean suits. His hands felt moist, his heart began racing, dreading the next few minutes.

Guided gently into the chair, he sat down. The technicians placed restraints on his ankles, wrists, chest and forehead. Despite being forewarned that he would be restrained in a fashion similar to the event in the Meadow Branch subdivision, he was still nervous.

The technician quietly asked, "Are you comfortable sir?" As much as Chuck wanted to tell the truth and answer "no", he knew what he had to do. "I'm good, thanks."

The technicians left, closing the door behind them. The disembodied voice of General Beckman quietly said, "Chuck. I've known you for four years now. You're about to upload the Intersect with full knowledge of all that that implies. You're one of the bravest men I've ever known. Your country thanks you. Good luck."

"Thanks General. I'm ready."

The lights dimmed, the chair slowly begin to spin and then, suddenly millions of images began to appear and disappear at an incomprehensible speed. Chuck's eyes locked open as his mind began to accept the data as it poured in. It felt like being in a wind tunnel except the process was completely mental. Pain began at his temples, but he ignored it, knowing that he had to get through this. The pain increased, he could hear his heart beating, faster and faster. His nose started to bleed. The headache pain began increasing.

And then suddenly, calm. The images continued to flow through, continued to be absorbed mentally, but he had mastered the download again, channeled it, and then began to ride the flow, much like a surfer, going faster and faster down the inside of a curling wave.

In the calm center of the flow, Charles Irving Bartowski understood what no else in the world could fathom, the reason for Bryce's insanity. Having the sum total knowledge of the world, instinctively knowing the interrelationships between different data points, had made his friend arrogant and pandered to that already considerable ego. Clinically, dispassionately, he analyzed Bryce's narcissistic personality and knew that this was the root cause. The flow began to ease, and for a slice of time too small to even describe, Charles was tempted. Charles knew he was better than Bryce. Charles knew his ethics and morals far exceeded the capability of all but the holiest of mankind. Charles knew he was smarter then ninety-eight percent of the population. Charles knew how to bring peace to all of humanity, how to care for the needy and discipline the wicked better than any politician. Charles could fix the world so nobody would suffer anymore and everybody would be happy.

But then, the inner personality that referred to itself as "Chuck" rejected those thoughts and returned to the mortal world, a little sadder for a man he had called friend, because his friend had succumbed to the temptation of godhood.

"Chuck!", an insistent Casey said. "You done? Can we go kill Larkin now?" As he spoke, Casey undid the restraints and with surprisingly gentle movements that were in direct contradiction to his gruff tone, helped Chuck out of the chair. He also handed him some hygienic wipes for his nose, which Chuck gratefully accepted.

"Colonel. We need to verify operational readiness of the Intersect. Chuck, can you look at these images and relate what you see?" The wall directly in front of Chuck dimmed and then the slumped brown skinned face of a young man in his twenties appeared. A scar ran from his left eye to his ear lobe. The air became pregnant, expectant.

"No flash"

A woman with short auburn hair, puffy eyes and a vacant face appeared next.

"Flash. Maite Aranalde, member of the ETA, wanted by the Spanish High Court for the Madrid bombings of 2004.

A Thai male of indeterminate age carrying an RPG was displayed next

"No flash"

A white male, mid thirties, with pronounced, heavy facial bone structures.

"Flash. Vladimir Brzhnoski. President of JSC Gazprom Neft - an oil and gas company in Russia. Known ties to Russian organized crime, money laundering, art theft."

A white male, dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin.

"Flash, Neal Caffery. Suspected skilled forger and thief. Currently in the custody of the FBI's New York office, functioning as a consultant on cases."

The tests continued for the next hour, leaving Chuck mentally exhausted from flashing dozens of times. Finally, the technicians were satisfied and declared emphatically to Beckman that the Intersect was fully operational. Beckman entered the room and walked to face Chuck directly.

"Next steps, Agent?"

"I need to review his file and see what I flash on. Hopefully, I can put together what his target list is, maybe get an idea of his driving motivation. But first, I need to go throw up."

**A/N: So, I've wanted to write about how the Intersect is downloaded for some time and I wanted to explore the significance of not only the Fleming Test but also Chuck's ability to download compared to other people that die as a result. While I understand the lack of physical movement, I don't think the writers really portray the inner workings of Chuck's mind as he downloads. This is my take on it. What do you think? Oh, and did you catch the cameo?  
**


	7. Connecting the Dots

**A/N: You guys have been so cool sticking with me as I scribble my way through a plot. I'm enjoying it, I hope you are also. So, this is the halfway point, seven down, seven to go. As always, read and review, let me know what you think. And as always, I don't own Chuck**

23 April

10:35 Hours

Operation Broken Paladin

NSA Situation Room

Chuck was sitting at a large work table, sifting through a cardboard file box, the minutia that made up the official record of one CIA Agent Bryce Larkin, from Connecticut. Recruited at Stanford in his junior year, Bryce had held various assignments that propelled him to the ratified status of being answerable only to the Deputy Director of Operations by 2006. From there, the debacle that resulted in not only his supposed death, but also the downloading of the Intersect into the head of one Charles Irving Bartowski had derailed his career. It was only because he was the highest scoring active agent on the Fleming Image Recognition test, that he had been given the opportunities to upload Intersect 2.0.

He had spent the last ninety minutes, flashing on multiple assignments that Bryce had held, but none of which could be directly correlated to usable intelligence in locating the rogue agent. Beckman kept walking by, never speaking, but obviously waiting for Chuck to work his Intersect magic and find that missing piece of the Larkin puzzle.

Frustrated, Chuck, pushed the box away and to the side and stood up. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to release the stress and tension. His mind wandered back to Sarah's journal and what he had read there. A broad smile began, knowing that at least there was another chance to make it work. And this time, he would listen more and let her talk. But she loved him!

Taking a deep breath, he decided to review what was known so far about Bryce and focus on the mission:

Fact: There had been eighteen public attacks so far attributed to Larkin, not counting the hit against Sarah or any of the Intersect team.

Fact: Exactly thirty seconds before each of the eighteen attacks, Larkin called the NSA Operations Center Officer in Charge and took credit.

Fact: Each call had been made using a pre paid cell phone and discarded immediately.

Fact: The attacks were not confined to the United States. Attacks had also taken place in London, Paris, Beijing, Tokyo, Berlin, Moscow, and New Delhi.

Fact: Each attack had been public and dramatic.

The list of facts went on and on, little points of data that led nowhere. Larkin varied his modus operandi so there was no way to prepare for a specific type of attack or even know who the target would be.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. He had flashed so much and so continually, he had a headache that just won't end. Turning back to the table, he pulled out a legal pad and looked at the notes he had made.

Zork. He had written that down and drawn a box around it. What if there was some relationship between the attacks, the game and Bryce's mental state? It was worth a couple of minutes of time to at least look at that theory.

Zork was a text based game. The player was known as the adventurer. You started in a white house in the middle of a forest clearing. Darkness was your enemy. Wait. None of the attacks took place at night! Ok, maybe there was something to this. What else?

There were nineteen treasures to find. Eighteen attacks so far. He stood up and went to the door of the conference room he was using as an office/workspace.

"Hollands. I need the crime scene files for each of the eighteen attacks sent to my computer immediately. Thank you."

He walked back to the table, pulled up a text writer on his laptop and began to list each of the nineteen treasures from Zork. His computer beeped to notify him that Hollands had sent the files. Rapidly flipping until he found photos, his theory became even more solid. Quickly typing up his results, he saved it. Waving to Beckman to get her attention, he waited for her to come to him.

"General, I think I have something. My dad told me that Bryce was using Zork as an interface to control the Intersect. Taking that statement, I put together a theory that Bryce is using the game's logic to determine his targets. When I cross checked the crime scenes for each of the attacks, I found out that there was an item missing from each scene that could have been perceived to be from the game."

"Chuck, are you serious?" asked Beckman. "You're saying that Bryce is playing a game? I don't agree that these deaths are any sort of game. That's insane!"

"Technically, General, it's psychotic behavior. Please hear me out. Bryce has his own reality that he's operating in. Here, let me show you what I've discovered. Three months ago, when he detonated a car bomb that killed the NATO Secretary General as he was visiting the Louvre. There's a painting by Monet that's been reported missing from there. Or here, where he fired an RPG, killing the Commanding General of the People's Liberation Army, a gold coffin from the Tang Dynasty was stolen. For each of the eighteen attacks, I can find a correlation to a game treasure, including a platinum ladder! A platinum ladder, General!"

Joining them, Casey had caught the last of Chuck's words and grunted in disbelief. "Prove it."

Chuck spun his laptop around towards Casey and pointed to a news article that reported the theft of a quarter million dollar ladder style necklace from an art gallery in SoHo, the same day that the President of the World Bank was assassinated by a long range rifle shot as he was entering the United Nations building.

"Let's say you're right Chuck. How does this help us identify where or who his next target is?" Beckman pursued her lips, waiting for Chuck to answer.

"Ah, well, here's the thing, General. There's one treasure left, a silver chalice. But here's the important fact. In the game, you are required to go back to the start point every time you recover a treasure. You have to drop off the treasure there. He's compelled to keep these treasures. If it's easier for you to think of him as a serial killer taking trophies, that might help."

"All right. What's the start point?"

"Where it all began. Connecticut. We're looking for a white house that has some significance to Bryce. I need the analysts to review his entire life, looking for white houses. Boyhood homes. Special memories. Vacation homes, those kind of things. Find the white house, we find Bryce."

Beckman issued instructions to the analyst team. "Top priority, we need to find this."

Ninety minutes later, they found Captain Grant's Bed and Breakfast in Norwich CT.


	8. Nine Hours To Save The World

**A/N: I don't own Chuck. This one should be rated mild "T" for one curse word. And as always, read and review, please!  
**

23 April

14:27 Hours

Hanger 2

New London Submarine Base, CT

Colonel John Casey stood at the head of the long table in the hanger. Spread before him was a high resolution map showing the two hundred fifty seven year old converted home known as Captain Grant's Bed and Breakfast. Surrounding the table were his team leaders, Peterson and Schneider, along with retired Master Gunnery Sergeant Richards, commonly referred to as Gunny.

"The plan is straightforward. Let's review the team components. Peterson, you have Gold. Schneider, you have Blue." said Casey, looking at each agent. "Gunny, you'll have Red. I'll have the reserve and over watch with White. Intelligence has identified these three buildings," Casey pointed to the satellite map. "as a possible location for a high value target."

"Buildings One and Two are located here, 1.6 miles from the intersection on the right hand side. Building Three faces the cove, here. Gold team, your target is Building One, Blue you have Building Two, Red, you have Building Three across from the cemetery and will block the cove. White will be in over watch, monitoring the road in and out and block accordingly."

"We've got ground transportation from here to this location, distance seven miles. We'll utilize the SUVs to block the roads when we dismount. The submarine Virginia is now prepositioned in the Thames River just outside the cove. They'll block and or destroy anything coming down the river Questions, comments, cuss, discuss?"

23 April 2011

15:03 Hours

NSA Situation Room

Ft. Meade, VA

The situation room had one wall covered with large flat panel video screens. The screens relayed the video feed from an unmanned drone flying silently over Captain Grant's Inn. The feed had shown the strike teams entering each of the three buildings and promptly securing every person they had found inside. Each detainee was compared to photos of Bryce Larkin but to no avail.

"General. We've searched each and every room in the three buildings. Building One is the main inn. We've secured the staff of five and the eight guests. Building Two had a staff of two and four guests. Building Three has been not been available for rent for the last four months due to a kitchen fire. No sign of the high value target. No evidence that he has been here."

"Colonel, it's Carmichael. Please repeat your last."

"He's not here Carmichael. We've searched the house, the grounds and no sign of him. There's nothing that even shows he was here."

"Colonel, this is General Beckman. Start packing up your men up and head back. We'll regroup." Beckman turned to Chuck. "You were certain he was there. Where else could he be?"

Disappointed, Chuck sat heavily in the chair, rubbing his temples. He was exhausted. He knew he was at the limits of physical and mental capability. He needed a nap. No time for it, he would have to settle for coffee and sugar instead of crawling into a dark hole.

"Casey! Wait! Somebody bring up the map!" Chuck stared intently at the map, hoping his intuition was right. "Casey, there's a cemetery a quarter mile away from Building Three, directly across from your location! I need an overhead image of that cemetery! Somebody get that for me!"

"You want me to go to a cemetery? Why?"

"The original owner of the inn was a sea captain. He built that house and the other two buildings for his wife. He was also a Abolitionist! I've got a hunch that he built a slave tunnel as an escape route. Thank you. Casey, I'm looking at the overhead image of the cemetery. Ninety percent of the graves have either simple tombstones or statues. There's only one mausoleum. The outside measurement looks to be a hundred square feet. I'm accessing the county database. The county records show the builder was Grant. But he's not buried in that tomb! Check the basement and the immediate surrounding grounds for a tunnel leading to that mausoleum. The tunnel may appear to be blocked on casual inspection, so tell your people to take their time."

"I'll go myself to the cemetery. All teams, search the grounds for an old slave tunnel. Team White, move. Control, we're our way. We'll check in when we get there."

A few tense minutes later, a tense Casey spoke again. "Chuck, we're here. I'm repositioning the drone and turning on helmet cams to relay the images. Somebody's been here. The door opened pretty easily."

The images displayed on the screens showed a white marble encased tomb. Inside, wide, empty shelves lined the walls, with the back wall also having a small altar. Paper was all over the altar, held down by various small objects. Photos of various dignitaries were taped in places, many with circles and dates on them.

"Chuck, these photos. They're all people Larkin has killed."

The operation room grew still at Casey's next words. "General, there's a picture of the President and the Pope together here. Tomorrow's date is on it."

The next several minutes were spent uploading images from the mausoleum to the situation room. Among the images was a scrap of Cyrillic writing. As soon as Chuck saw the writing the familiar butterfly feeling of a flash began.

**Chemical symbols**

**Hammer and Sickle**

**Dead pigs**

**Chemical symbols**

"Oh, shit. He's gotten a hold of fourth generation Soviet era nerve agents."

"Do you know the type?" said Beckman. "We can deploy detection gear and search for the dispersal device from the air."

"No, that's not going to work. If Chuck's right about this, those agents were designed with three specific objectives, one of which was to be undetectable using standard NATO chemical detection equipment." said Casey. "You have to search for the specific chemical make up of the agent, not a broad sweep of all known agents. We'll need to calibrate the detectors to search specifically for the chemical composition, but that'll take hours, time we don't have."

Beckman turned to look at Chuck and quietly said, "We're running out of time. We've got nine hours before the 24th. Nine hours to save the world."

**A/N: Did you spot the inside joke?**


	9. Juilette

**A/N: And now we hear from Bryce. This is one of my two favorite chapters, hope you enjoy it. Oh, and if you want to know what the inside joke was in the previous chapter, do a web search for Groucho Marx and a question that entered into pop culture from a game show he hosted. Look carefully at Chuck's comments and you'll see the inside joke. Oh, and as usual I don't own Chuck.**

April 23, 2011

Evening

Location: Unknown

The adjustment to staying awake during the dark hours had been difficult, at first. But his will overcame the limitations of the body. He stood in the shower, allowing the cool water to cascade over him, the scars on his body seeming to channel it towards the drain. The tickling, itching feeling caused by the eightball he had taken earlier warred with the calming effect of the shower.

So close, he thought. A few short hours and the last treasure would be his. The world would know justice because he, the Angel Incarnate, would have removed all obstacles to peace and harmony. The world would rejoice at would he had accomplished. His name would echo in the minds and souls of billions of mankind, as he ushered in a new Golden Age. He would have succeeded in doing what no other has done: casting down the false idols that prevented true harmony.

A tendril of doubt weaved in and out of his musings, faint but unmistakable. What of the Adversary? When would the Adversary rise to attack?

**If The Adversary has been activated, The Adversary will have been emotionally crippled by the death of Target Beta,** a cold consciousness thought. **Emotions will have prevented the download of Intersect 2.0, since the Adversary does not possess an interface capable of masking said emotions. Without an interface to control the Adversary's emotions that result from the death of the Target Beta, there is only a point three seven probability that the Adversary can successfully interdict.**

Ah, the lovely Target Beta, he thought. True, she was damaged goods after the Burbank operation was shut down, but still quite easy on the eyes. It had been pathetically easy to manipulate the paranoia of the local jihadist cell into believing that the safe house had held a government death squad seeking to set an example. Of course they had to preemptively strike. They really had no choice.

The reports he monitored had clearly shown that the RPG fired by the terrorists had caused the building to collapse and his probability formulas had assured him that Target Beta was dead.

It was ironic that the very enemy that he had joined the CIA to fight, that the Intersect had been created to combat, he was leveraging in his crusade. But the truth was clear. Despite the horror of the World Trade Centers, those in power had simply used him and others like him, to maintain their own power.

It took the pain of losing Juliette to get the courage to see past his naivete. But when he over rode the safety protocols of the Intersect, and truly began examining the relationships between those in power throughout the world, his faith in the system he served was shattered. Oh, he couldn't prove it in any court of law and no one would believe him. But he knew. He was certain. They had failed to protect Juliette and the other passengers on that flight from Rio to Paris. He had been planning to secretly propose to her in Paris.

Instead, he had been robbed of his love. They said it was an accident, but he knew better. They had allowed the enemy to live. They were inept and corrupt and continued to perpetuate the system that allowed the enemy to flourish.

Since justice couldn't be had within the system, he knew that he had to take matters into his own hands. The symmetry of nineteen targets hadn't escaped him. He still didn't understand why he had to take the items, but they seemed to bring him comfort, as if they were tangible reminders of his progress.

One more target, one more treasure and then he could come out into the open and accept the accolades, the praise, of all that he had accomplished. No one would suffer like he had. No one would ever die like Juliette had.

Live broadcast of the death of the target would be the crowning achievement. Adding in the deaths of tens of thousands would underscore his resolve and determination to free mankind. They would understand that he could bear any decision, any consequence from his actions.

He reached down to turn the shower head off. Pulling back the curtain, he grabbed for the towel.

Procuring the fourth generation nerve agents from the chaos of what passed for the former Soviet Union had been so easy that it validated his crusade. His final task before the scheduled event was to prime the command detonator, since he had already placed the weapon for maximum effect. And since fourth generation nerve agents were not detectable by normal means, he had no fear of it being found early.

Facing the mirror, he stared into his own blue eyes. A trained psychiatrist with a background in criminal profiling would have flinched from the visible madness. But of course, it had been a long time since he had seen a psychiatrist.

"I once was a man named Bryce Larkin. I have died and am now reborn. I am now the Angel Incarnate. I will save you from yourselves. May whatever god you pray to have mercy on your souls because I won't."


	10. Confessions and Casanova

**A/N: I'm getting impatient. I want to go ahead and finish this and move on the next story. Of course, once I post the ending, it will be months before the new story is ready. Anywho, I don't own Chuck. Read and review, would love to see more. Oh, and I do accept Anonymous Review, so no excuses!**

**23 April 2011**

**21:38 Hours**

**Secure Government Area**

**Harbor Hospital ICU**

She had actually been conscious for some time before the nurse on duty noticed it. The medical team came in and ran some quick cognitive tests on her. Her pupils were still somewhat dilated but she was able to successfully wiggle her fingers and toes. They asked her some memory questions but she refused to answer any of them until Beckman arrived.

The room was empty except for the two of them. Even through the haze of her pain, Sarah thought that Beckman looked exhausted.

"Sarah, they say you're going to be fine, but you'll need physical therapy for some time." She paused, obviously formulating her next words. "Can I sit? It's been a long day."

Beckman pulled the visitor chair closer to Sarah and touched her hand. "I've got something to tell you. I reactivated Chuck. He gave me a few conditions before he would agree to come back, one of them being you. I promised him we would keep you safe, despite what's happened."

Sarah had been in hiding for five months, never staying in the same place longer than a few days. Her days had been spent looking over her shoulder, sleeping with a pistol under her pillow every night. The stress had, as Chuck had noticed, resulted in some weight loss, tension headaches and overall exhaustion. The after effects of the attack, coupled with her critical injuries had pushed her to the breaking point. Fully aware of the trauma she had endured, it was no surprise to Diane Beckman when Sarah Walker started crying softly.

"He's got the Intersect again, doesn't he?"

"Yes." Beckman said compassionately. "He's our only hope to stop Larkin. Chuck found out who the target is. Colonel Casey is with him, and they're on their way to Rome to stop him."

"Does he know..." Sarah strained to get the words out. "About me?"

Beckman gently nodded. "Yes, he was here this morning. His only concern is keeping you safe. Sarah, he's left you something. I realize you're very tired right now, but he begged me to get this to you as soon as you woke up." She laid a small portable flash player on the over-the-bed table and then adjusted it for ease of viewing. "I care about him also. I'm going to press play and then step over to the window and give you some privacy."

Beckman, stood up, pressed play and moved away.

Chuck's face filled the small screen, and then backed away as he obviously adjusted the camera. The slightly goofy expression he made as he was making the adjustments created a small bubble of happiness in Sarah's chest.

"Hi. I need to tell you somethings but first I want you to know that I love you. That no matter what happens, I'm never leaving you. I'm so sorry for hurting you at Ellie's wedding. You're right, I was mad. I've agonized over how to tell you how sorry I was for what I did. I promise I'll make it up to you."

Chuck took a deep breath. "Sarah, they've told me about Bryce. Dad filled me in on some details. He's also helped me in some other ways. I, uh, downloaded again."

Sarah released a small groan as she jerked on hearing Chuck's words, aggravating her fractures. "No, Chuck, please, no" she whispered.

"I've got to stop him Sarah. He's hurt you and a lot of other people. I'm about to leave for Rome. "

He stopped and then the million dollar Bartowski grin that she had missed so much lit the small screen up. "But hey, I've got Casey, he of the numbered grunts and angry center, watching my back, so I'll be fine!"

And then the grin disappeared. "We didn't say good bye properly, Sarah. So don't leave me again. I need you in my life. I'll see you soon. I love you."

The clip ended. Silence and then, the broken sobs of a young woman as she was held gently.

**24 April 2011**

**0430 Hours Central European Time**

**C-17 Callsign 81 Impact**

**Altitude: 27653 Feet**

**En Route to Rome Ciampino Airport**

The roar of the four massive Pratt & Whitney engines were a real surprise to Chuck. He had never traveled on a strategic airlifter before, so the spartan interior was quite a revelation to someone used to traveling commercial. From the uncomfortable seats positioned with their backs to the fuselage to the requirement from the loadmaster to wear acoustic earmuffs, it was definitely a novel experience.

Not so to Casey, who, having completed his team briefing, had decided to take the opportunity to catch up on some sleep. In fact, the entire strike team had followed Casey's lead and similarly dozed off, leaving Chuck bored.

A bored Chuck is never a good thing, so it's quite understandable that Chuck decided to activate the Master Chief icon just to see what it could do.

The heads up display lit up in front of Chuck's eyes. A pulsing target dot appeared, flashing green and then red, green and then. A timer started counting down from ten minutes. A cold dispassionate thought intruded into Chuck's consciousness.

NO TARGET IDENTIFIED. NO DANGER EVIDENT. ASSESSING. MENU.

Five images appeared before Chuck. The first, Bruce Lee. The second, a pistol. The third, Houdini. The fourth Casanova, the last a white skull, and then looping over and over.

The cold thought intruded again.

SELECT. SELECT. SELECT.

For the next nine minutes forty five seconds, Chuck was bombarded by "Select, Select, Select" to the point that he was seriously considering the Casanova option in a plane full of heterosexuals.

**24 April 2011**

**0616 Hours**

**Undisclosed Location**

**Rome, Italy**

What's real? What's illusion? The man asked himself while standing in the shadows. He thought of the path he had followed to get here, this moment as the sun rose over the ancient city's skyline. So much of his life had been derailed at different times. Did it start with Stanford? What if different choices had been made back then? Would he have still ended up here?

He looked down as he spun the ring on his left hand. The skin was broken and raw from the constant spinning, much like the state of his soul. Did he even have a soul anymore? Was he even alive? Maybe he was simply a puppet whose strings were controlled by others. Beckman had certainly pulled his strings, guided his decisions for so long. Others had also. But the ring was not a string, it was a symbol of her love.

Love. That thought teased him. Does he even understand what love was? Yes. Love was that intense need to be with someone, to have that person be the center of the universe, where everyone else is unimportant. Love was changing someone, changing yourself, so that you're so alike, you share all the same needs, same interests. Love was being physically ill when they're not with you.

He remembered when he first met Dr. Juliette Fantasme, shortly after going back to Washington with the new Intersect. She had been one of the medical staff bringing him back to health after the Beirut mission. She had seen him physically and mentally wrecked and yet still loved him.

They had confessed their love for each other and had planned to secretly marry in Paris. Fate intervened though, and she was taken from him too early.

**CORRECT. JULIETTE WAS TAKEN FROM YOU. YOUR LOVE FOR JULIETTE IS THE PATH TO FREEDOM FOR MANKIND. **

"I have doubt." he whispered. "What would she think? Would she approve?"

**YES. SHE WOULD APPROVE. YOU MUST BE STRONG FOR JULIETTE. YOU CAN NOT HAVE DOUBT. YOU ARE PERFECT IN EVERY WAY. **

And then the first sun rays of the day lit his face. "Yes, I must be strong, strong enough to do what must be done."


	11. She's a Tough Old Bird

**A/N: You don't get to be a general because you're a nice person. As always, I don't own Chuck.**

**24 April 2011**

**0813 Hours**

**Rome Ciampino Airport **

**Rome, Italy**

The air was a brisk 59 degrees with a slight wind from the east. The strike team was dressed out in civilian clothing in order to blend with the anticipated crowd of worshipers that would be in St. Peter's Square.

"Ok, listen up. Weapons remain concealed unless you actually spot the target. Rome City police and Vatican security have been informed of the threat, unfortunately though, His Holiness refuses to cancel Mass. Local law enforcement will be searching for the weapon within the confines of Vatican City." Casey paused. "Our job is outside the walls at the specific locations that our analysts have determined as prime locations for the target. Agent Carmichael, can you elaborate on what we're looking for and our likely locations?

Chuck looked at the twenty five agents, knowing that the fate of tens of thousands of people were in their hands. Hoping that his voice would not betray his fears, he began speaking in a clear voice.

"Team, our target is suffering from mental disabilities, aggravated by likely use of methamphetamines, sleep deprivation and overall paranoia. The weapon we're trying to interdict is a fourth generation nerve agent. Based on the parameters of the personality involved, the type of dispersal needed in order to achieve his stated goals and the technology available, it is our conclusion that the target will be within a three mile radius of St. Peter's Square. In addition, because of the stone construction of most of the buildings within Rome, radio signals from a command detonator will find it impossible to punch through. We've supplemented that with cellular jammers at ground level."

Chuck took a breath. "What that leaves us with are buildings with roof access in excess of 150 feet. The jammers wouldn't reach that high, and it's high enough that a cellular phone could easily send out a signal to detonate. We've identified five likely buildings that meet all of the criteria. Our analysis of the target, likely detonators and so forth make us 90% confident that our target is in one of these. The ten percent that's left, well, unfortunately that's bad luck, paranoia and mental issues. If additional information surfaces, we can adjust as needed. Colonel?"

Casey looked over at Peterson. "Peterson, your team is responsible for Agent Carmichael. Nothing happens to him, understood?" Peterson nodded. "Agent Carmichael will monitor any additional leads that come in and task as appropriate. We've got one UAV flying over the city, but that's it. Any more and we'll start to panic people. You have your assignments, move out."

The teams broke down into smaller sections and boarded the provided ground transportation into Rome proper. Casey hung back for a minute, looked at Chuck and decided, that for old times sake, it needed to be said. Besides, Chuck really hadn't changed all that much.

"You're staying here, right?"

"Yes, Casey, I'm staying." Chuck pantomimed air quotes. "In the CAR! Geez, I mean, really?"

**24 April 2011**

**09:38 Hours**

**Rome, outside the Vatican City limits**

Chuck was getting worried that his adamant statement that Bryce was going to be here instead of in Washington attacking the President was going to be wrong. The teams had searched four of the five buildings but no sign of Bryce had been found. He recalled the titanic argument that had taken place back at NSA Headquarters right before they had boarded the C-17 out of McGuire.

12 Hours Earlier

Beckman's Office

NSA Headquarters

Chuck and Casey were standing in Beckman's office as they listened to her end of the conversation she was having with the Director of National Intelligence:

_Sir. I stand by my agents and their analysis. They firmly believe that the rouge agent will assassinate the Pope, not the President. To that end, passing on the intelligence that the President is a possible target to the Secret Service and FBI should be sufficient to protect the President. That's their job incidentally. _

_Sir. I repeat. Larkin will assassinate the Pope and steal the Antioch Chalice that is on display in the Sistine Chapel. He will engineer the assassination to create religious strife. Allowing my team to proceed to stop the real threat is the morally right thing to do sir. The Swiss Guard and Vatican Police are not equipped to stop a threat of this magnitude._

_No sir. I disagree. It is our problem. We created this monster. WE have to stop him. _

_Respectfully, sir, I must disobey that order. I will send my teams with or without your approval. If I'm wrong, my resignation will be on your desk in the morning._

_Thank you sir. _

_Colonel Casey. Agent Carmichael. You have a "Go". I'll clear the way for you with the Italians and the Vatican police while you're in the air. And gentlemen? Godspeed and good hunting."_

It was always a terrifying but inspiring sight to see Diane Beckman in action, thought Chuck. For such a small and diminutive woman physically, nobody could touch her for mental toughness. She had put her career on the line for Chuck and his flash. He just prayed that he wouldn't let her down.

"Agent Carmichael!" One of the agents had been monitoring the feed from the UAV. "I've got an anomaly at the Castel Sant'Angelo!"

"Castel Sant'Angelo? What kind of anomaly? Where is it in relation to the crowd in St. Peter's Square?"

"It's within the parameters but our information from the Italian Police stated that they had a squad positioned there inside because there's a tunnel that's been used as an escape route for popes in the Middle Ages. We didn't assign any team to it, well, because the locals had it."

"What was the anomaly again?"

"Sir, the UAV picked up some flashes of light a couple of minutes ago. When I rolled the tape back, it looked a lot like gunfire!"

Chuck looked at the map, the current location of the other teams and the Castel. He realized immediately that he and Peterson's team were the closest. Nobody else could get to the Castel inside of thirty minutes due to the crowds and traffic. Thirty minutes. A lot can go wrong in thirty minutes.

"Casey's going to be pissed I didn't stay in the car." said Chuck quietly. In a normal voice he said, "Peterson, load up your team, I'll take full responsibility. We need to check out this Castel and just verify that we're good."

"Sir. Colonel Casey said-" Peterson started to say.

Chuck interrupted. "Peterson, I know what Colonel Casey said. He's been my partner for four years now. I'm leaving in two minutes. Now, either you can come with me and protect me or you can sit and answer to Casey when he gets back and finds me gone. Your call."

Peterson looked closely at the tall agent in front of him. He sighed. "Team. Load up. We follow Carmichael."

**A/N: So, here's the deal. There's three chapters left. You know what the next chapter is going to be about, don't you? So if you want to see the chapter you all have been waiting for earlier than next week...let's just say that I need encouragement and leave it at that :-)**


	12. Mirror

**A/N: So, welcome to my favorite chapter. This was the second chapter I wrote. I wanted to make sure I got it right to the best of my ability. Let me know what worked and what didn't work on this part, please? These types of scenes are very challenging for me to write. And thanks to those reviewers that begged for this to come out early. Foxmac caught an error which I have fixed, so thanks are due there also. Enjoy!  
**

**As always, I don't own Chuck.**

**24 April 2011**

**10:11 Hours**

**Castel Sant'Angelo **

The team snaked into the mausoleum, standard single file formation, Peterson in the lead. His closed left fist flew up, and the line froze. Peterson's hand, pointing two fingers to the left, signaled to Jones and Rankin to move and cover the left, hunched movement yet smooth. The same hand, two fingers again, signaled to Reese and Jadwin to move to the right. Splitting left and right, with Cano moving up, the six man team forming an elongated crescent. Each team member scanned his assigned quadrant, in a left right movement, always aware of their partner. Ten meters of the same hunched movement brought the firing line into the sunlight pouring from the upper windows.

Peterson paused, scanned left to right again, then spoke into his radio. "Agent Carmichael, no sign." Chuck began his cautious movement into the mausoleum, wondering where the local law enforcement officers that had been assigned here were. One stride, two strides. And then, chaos erupted.

Rapid, continuous shots rained down from the upper part of the mausoleum. Chuck froze and watched in horror as automatic fire decimated Peterson and his team, each shot a solid mass of metal, tearing into major organs with pinpoint accuracy. Blood and screams intertwined in Chuck's vision and then mercifully it stopped.

"Hello, Chuck, glad you could stop by. How's Sarah?", Bryce's taunting voice spoke in the ringing silence.

Strangely enough, there was a lilting tone in Bryce's voice, that despite the bloody tableau, gave the impression that Larkin was glad to see him. Chuck recoiled, realizing just how far removed from reality his old friend was.

Bryce leaped from his ambush point behind the statue of some forgotten saint, landing into a smooth roll, all the while maintaining his hold on the assault weapon. Completing his roll, he straightened and swaggered within twenty feet of Chuck, oblivious to the bodies of the strike team.

"Chuck"

"Bryce"

"You know, this is the point in the movie where the bad guy spills his guts to the hero, right? So, tell me Chuck, what's your evil plan?"

Silence.

"Ah, well, then. Let's do away with the pretense, then shall we? You and I, we're bound together in a way that other people don't understand." Bryce was speaking so rapidly the words were almost spilling out of his mouth. "We're mirror images, you know? You have Sarah, I had Juliette. You had the Intersect, now I have 2.0. I'm a spy and you're a nerd."

"But the question is, which of us is light and which is dark? Some people, they may see you as the saintly figure, but I know better though, don't I? You've been tempted by what was in your head. You're weak, though. You choose your happiness over the world's. I'm stronger though. I'm doing what's best for the world, so nobody has to suffer like I did when they took my Juliette away. Dr. Juliette Fantasme, the love of my life."

Bryce smiled. Not the smile of Stanford. Not the smile of Bryce from Connecticut, but the smile of a man possessed. One who knew, beyond doubt, that his path was the right choice.

"You know, Chuck, you may have had the Intersect, but I have true mastery of 2.0.", he said. He flourished his hand towards the remains of the strike team. "I am the Angel of Judgment. You are the Adversary. As long as you exist, I face resistance. Therefore." A pause began and then grew, filled with the knowledge that pain would soon follow. "Let's finish this. To decide the fate of the world, in a manner in keeping with our past. The time is now, the place is here. You against me, no weapons."

"This isn't a game Bryce. Please, let's stop this."

"Not a game, Chuck? Oh, I disagree!" The ripping sound of a velcro fastener coming undone seemed obscenely loud in the mausoleum. "Know what this is Chuck?"

"A cell phone?"

"Ah, that penetrating intellect of yours is almost right! I can see that you're an almost Stanford graduate! Yes, it's a cell phone, but it's also the command detonator for the nerve gas weapon located in the square. Pound O Eight Five Two Pound detonates the weapon."

Bryce laid down the gun and cellphone on the altar behind him. The distinctive fluttering of his eyes told Chuck that Bryce had flashed onto some Intersect program. The gripping cold of fear seized Chuck's stomach. He knew at this moment that not only the fate of the thousands of people in St. Peter's square rested in his hands, but also the world's.

"There's the detonator Chuck. Winner gets all. And since you don't have the Intersect, I fully expect to win!"

Leopard, Chuck thought. The heads up display, through which he saw Bryce moving towards him in a gliding, dance like movement, yet painfully slow, appeared. The Master Chief icon pulsed, once, twice. And in that split of second of time, Chuck choose. He choose to become the hero the world needed to be, he choose to set aside the concerns that he had held on for so long. He choose instead to become what the world needed. Master Chief, he thought, activate.

Chuck moved to his left, his right leg lifting upwards as he pivoted on the ball of his left foot. His right foot moved counter clockwise high in the air, in turn spinning his entire body. He landed on his right and then repeated the action using his left foot to carry his momentum forward, bringing him within grappling distance of Bryce, all in the time it takes a hummingbird to flutter it's wings once.

Bryce's eyes opened wide, and the Intersect 2.0 began computations to adapt its attack strategy. Too late to prevent Chuck's open hands to crash hard on both of Bryce's ears. Blood immediately began to seep from Bryce's ear drums, as he frantically back pedaled.

Chuck reared back on his right foot, stabilizing his body, as his left foot lifted up to drive itself into Bryce's chest. Bryce fell back but compensated for the loss of balance quickly by dropping into a runner's stance, his right leg extended straight behind him. He spun his body, bringing his right leg in to to sweep Chuck's feet out from under him.

Chuck fell to his right, pain flashing through his knee as it twisted, bringing him crashing to the hard marble floor. White light shone at the edges of his vision, bringing tears to his eyes, as he watched in slow motion Bryce stand up. He saw his former friend cock his leg back as if in preparation for kicking a ball. Bryce's right foot began it's arc towards Chuck's head, forcing Chuck to roll forward, under the kick, whistling, shocking in it's speed, just barely missing his head.

Chuck's impromptu roll forward smashed into Bryce's left leg, forcing the two opponents into a pile of interlocking limbs. Each man desperately maneuvered to gain a grappling advantage, Chuck with his longer limbs, but Bryce with superior strength.

Arms strained against joints, fingers driving into nerve clusters. Hands strained for holds, only to be denied. A thumb put pressure against an eye, then in retaliation, knuckles inflicted pain into a trachea. Red mists began to overwhelm the vision of both fighters, no thought left except primal ones. No grand strategy, simply the need to overwhelm the other.

Years later, he remembered staring directly into his friend's eyes. They were the only two, the only ones that understood the burden that humanity had laid at their feet by uploading the Intersect. The need to save the world from itself, the drive to fix all that was wrong in the world. And in that split second of shared understanding, one faltered and doubted but the other accepted his fate.

They say the sound of a man's neck breaking is like the sound of a seasoned, weathered branch snapping in the dead of winter. He'd tell you different. He'd tell you it was the sound of sorrow.


	13. Krishna

**A/N: So what did you think of my fight scene? Where you able to visualize it? Did it make sense? Could it have been better? (Well, yes, but I don't know how to get there.) **

**As always, I don't own Chuck. Read and Review please!**

**24 April 2011**

**16:09 Hours**

**Castel Sant'Angelo **

Casey found Chuck sitting despondently on the outside steps of the Castel Sant'Angelo, his long body seeming to be closed in on himself. All around him, a chaotic scene as various emergency and police personnel moved around him. Casey thought the scene looked like a busy ant hill with Chuck like some large rock around which others moved. He looked tired and still a little in shock at what had happened earlier. Chuck's face was covered with bruises and scrapes, while his knee had suffered some type of injury.

The kid doesn't have the stones to be a killer and never will, thought Casey. Oh, he had certainly killed Larkin, but it was probably more by accident than anything else and now Chuck was dealing with the emotional aftermath. Yeah, he'd give him crap about lady feelings, but Casey also remembered what his first kill had been like. And the one after that, and the next and so on. He didn't keep count, but he did remember the faces. Johnnie Walker helped a little, at least by making him numb enough to wall off the faces for awhile. He knew what Chuck was going through, because he had felt it often enough himself.

He grunted as he sat down heavily next to Chuck. "Funny thing about this place. It's the Catholic home base, but just about everybody has some kind of operation here. Take Hindus. Wouldn't expect to find them here in the heart of Italy, but they're here. Weird. Say, that reminds me of one of their stories."

Casey paused. Hearing nothing but silence from Chuck, he continued. "Seems that there were these two cousins, one who had all the good parts of being a prince, the other who had all the bad. The bad prince cheated the good prince out of the throne and exiled him. Well, when the good prince came back and demanded his throne, they drew up their armies and got ready to fight. They both prayed to their god Krishna for help in the battle, and whaddya know, he shows up."

Out of his peripheral vision, Casey noticed that Chuck was paying attention now.

"So, Krishna says, 'Boys, I'm here, but since you both asked for me, well, we need to make this fair. One of you gets my army, the other of you gets me, but I won't fight or draw a weapon.' So the bad prince takes the army and the good prince takes Krishna himself. And they get ready to fight. But the good prince looks over and instead of seeing an enemy, he sees family and friends and people he's grown up with. So he hesitates, see, not wanting to pull the trigger. And then Krishna starts talking to him about all sorts of stuff, working through how a leader should act. But there's one thing he says that I'm reminded of right now."

Peripherally, he sees Chuck's face turn towards him, but Casey continues to look forward, not acknowledging Chuck's interest.

"Yeah, Old Krishna was something else. He said that sometimes, the only way to save people was to fight a righteous war and that sometimes, doing nothing and letting evil win was the greater sin than the evil itself. Sometimes, you have to fight not because you want to but because the world needs you."

Casey stood up, stretched and clapped Chuck on his shoulder.

"Come on, numb nuts, time to catch the bird home. Oh, and that name you gave us, Juliette Fantasme? The analysts' say that there's no record of anyone with that name ever coming into contact with Larkin."

**A/N: I started watching Chuck because I'm a Browncoat and have been a fan of Adam Baldwin since DC Cab. So any chance to show him as more than a blunt instrument, I'm going to take. **


	14. The End

**A/N: I would like to say a specific thank you to the following reviewers: Tempe4Booth, Jinxed97, Foxmac, 007Chuck, spcr71, and Just Chuck, for reading and reviewing since the beginning and being so encouraging just about every time I posted a chapter. There were definitely a few times I posted early because of them! Thank you!**

**Oh, and I don't own Chuck.**

**26 April 2011**

**07:37 Hours**

**Secure Government Area**

**Harbor Hospital**

**Baltimore, MD**

Despite the hospital curtains, the morning sun was bathing Sarah's private room in soft light. Slowly, she woke, still foggy from the pain medication. They had upgraded her condition and moved her from the ICU to this, a private room within the secure section of the hospital.

She felt a pressure on her stomach, like a weight was resting on it. Slowly, carefully she maneuvered her head to see what was causing the pressure. A familiar, brown curly haired head appeared in her vision, causing her breath to catch.

Her sudden inhalation prompted a reaction from the head. Agonizingly slow, the head lifted slightly as the face turned towards her. Her heart started racing, a clammy feeling began and she had no doubt her face was turning white.

The head finished its turn and came to rest on the opposite cheek and a pair of brown eyes looked into hers. Her head felt like it was spinning as she struggled for what to say, for the words to apologize for her appearance, and yes, even a touch of anger that this was the way they were to meet up again. She had imagined this reunion for so long, to do something so perfect, with her dressed in his favorite colors. It wasn't fair! she thought bitterly. It's going to go so wrong! She wasn't ready!

And then, those soft brown eyes spoke to her heart. And she listened in awe to what those eyes were telling her. I love you Sarah Walker, the eyes said. I love you for who you are on the inside. I love you because without you, I'm half a man. I love you when you're hurt, when you're mad, when you're happy, and when you're sad. I love you.

And her shining blue eyes replied to his heart, I love you Chuck Bartowski. I love you because without you, I'm lost. Without you, I have no life. With you, my life is complete. It didn't matter what happened to separate us in the past, what matters is that we're here together.

Then two hearts spoke as one. No thoughts, no words, just love and happiness.

The End

**A/N: And it's a wrap! Thanks for sticking with me on this small labor of love. Could this have been longer? Probably, but I'm not that good. I tried my best to not only entertain you, but also stay true to the characters we know and love. **

**Some of you may have found my portrayal of Bryce Larkin a little troubling. I would argue though, if you go back and watch the pilot and some of the other earlier episodes, you'll see how truly arrogant and borderline psychotic Larkin was even then. Compare that to Chuck helping the dad out with his little girl and you see how much those two are mirror images of each other. Couple that with the mental stress of the Intersect and voila, you have a true three dimensional nemesis for Chuck. Hence the title of this piece. **

**I leave some of the questions unanswered because no matter how hard we try, life is just that way sometimes. Did Bryce give up? Did Juliette really exist? Did Beckman keep her word about the removing the Intersect? What happens next to Sarah and Chuck? Did Casey shave his head and take up the begging bowl as a Hindu monk? I'll leave those answers up to you, because what's life without a little mystery? (Well, it's pretty certain Casey didn't become a monk but hey, he was a choir boy!)**

**Speaking of mysteries, I'll start working on my next story soon, but it's going to be some time before the first chapter is even up. Murder mysteries are hard work! It took me quite awhile to do my first one "Chuck vs the Sixteen Keys", but they're deeply satisfying to write.**

**Again, thank you for taking the time out of your busy life to read my little scribble. I'm blessed and honored to have you read my stories.**

**William Ashbless**


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